The assault hadn’t sparked the investigation—but it had certainly brought it to a swift and brutal conclusion.

One week later, Samuel made bail and foolishly returned to the house with his lawyer, planning to grab our home computers before the police could execute a search warrant.

He tapped his access code into the front door panel.

The lock flashed a bright, angry red, and the alarm began to chirp.

Through the glass, he could see professional movers boxing up all his clothes and personal effects.

I stood in the foyer, still wrapped in surgical bandages, Detective Powell standing protectively behind me.

Samuel pounded his fist against the reinforced glass.